Сестры
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: A portrait of three sisters.


Сестры  
(a portrait of three sisters)

i.

She cradles the infant carefully in her arms, the way Mama showed her. Mama says the baby is special, and Elena frowns slightly. She looks just like any other baby, but if Mama says so, it must be true. Mama never lies.

Katya tugs at Elena's dress. "See baby!"

Elena ignores her and continues studying her youngest sister. She looks like a little doll, and with that thought Elena smiles.

"Irina," she says for the first time. "Pretty Irinochka. We're going to have the best time together."

Irina opens her eyes and looks at Elena as if she already knows all the secrets of the world.

ii.

Three girls dressed in school uniforms stand in Red Square and watch the passersby. The oldest wears an expression of boredom, the middle sister has an illicit blue scarf wrapped around her head, and the youngest has a pocketful of stolen kopecks.

The oldest frowns. "Katya, take off that scarf."

"Or what? You'll report me? Would you rather I freeze to death?"

The youngest darts into the crowd and returns grinning.

"Papa's going to kill you."

Irina shrugs. "Not if you don't tell him."

iii.

Irina spins around, her arms outstretched, her head thrown back. Her hat has tumbled to the ground and her hair has fallen free of its confines. Elena watches her dance in the snowflakes, her own hair in a tight braid, her hands fisted in her coat pockets. Katya has already grown tired of spinning; she makes a snowball, packing it tight in her red mittens, and launches it at Elena.

"Stupid suka!" Elena brushes snow off the front of her coat and chases after Katya, who is cackling wildly. Elena skids to a halt as Katya crashes into Irina and the two girls fall to the ground. They wrestle, very unlike the ladies Mama so badly wants them to be, then suddenly Katya jumps to her feet with a shriek. Irina has shoved a handful of snow down the back of Katya's neck.

Irina lies on the ground laughing.

iv.

Elena combs her fingers through Irina's tangled hair, ignoring her sister's complaints. She has always been envious of Irina's curls; her own hair remains stubbornly straight despite her best attempts to change it.

"You have to start acting like a lady, Milochka." Irina and Katya have been running around doing who knows what, and while Katya's hair is easy enough to brush, Irina's beautiful curls are now knotted and tangled together.

"If you're not going to behave like a girl, Mama might as well cut your hair short like a boy."

Across the room, Katya's face lights up and she fingers the ends of her hair thoughtfully. Irina twists around in her seat to glare at Elena.

"Don't cut my hair!"

Elena kisses her forehead. "Relax, Irisha, I'm not serious."

v.

Elena finds Irina sitting on the bathroom floor, her cheeks streaked with tears. For the last week or so, Irina's behaviour has been erratic; she's been moodier than usual, snapping at anyone who so much as looks at her askance, and not even Katya has been able to find out what's bothering her.

Incredibly, despite her tears, she's smiling.

Elena sits next to her. "Rishka?"

Irina accepts the embrace, leaning against her sister. "Oh, Lena, I've been so –" She laughs. "But never mind, it's nothing!"

Elena frowns, suspicion nagging at the back of her mind. "Are you taking drugs?"

Irina's laughter deepens as she shakes her head. "No, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?"

Irina bites her lip, suddenly serious. "You have to promise not to tell Mama."

"Of course."

A pause. Then, "I was late. I thought – But I'm not, so it doesn't matter."

Elena understands immediately, and she's not sure which emotion is strongest: anger, disappointment or relief. Irina is only sixteen years old. "Who have you been sleeping with?"

"Lena, I—"

"Tell me!"

Irina ducks her head. "Gerard Cuvee."

One of Elena's classmates at the Academy. I'm going to kill him, she thinks.

vi.

The three sisters are on a bench at Gorky Park, Irina sitting in the middle. She stares out at the skaters, though her expression is distant. Her hands clutch the end of the bench, and everything about her posture radiates tension.

"It's an incredible honour," Elena says, "to be given an assignment like this."

"It's a slap in the face. That's what it is." Katya lights a cigarette. "They're whoring her out."

"It's important work—"

"Anyone could just steal that information! Instead she has to service a stupid American for who knows how long—"

"An assignment I'm sure you're far more qualified for—"

"Stop it! Just stop." Irina speaks quietly, but the force behind her words carries enough weight. She sighs, leans back against the bench, then takes Katya's cigarette. She doesn't need to speak for her sisters to know what her decision is.

Katya shakes her head in disgust, then stalks off. Elena puts her hand on Irina's shoulder and offers a smile. "You're doing the right thing."

Irina says nothing.

vii.

Elena barely recognizes her youngest sister when she finally sees her again. Irina is lying on a narrow cot, her arms curled protectively over her belly. Elena sits on the edge of the bed and gently touches Irina.

"Rishka."

Irina moans, clutching her belly tighter.

"It's okay, Rishka. Lena's here."

She sits with Irina for the entire twelve hours she's in labour, smoothing her hair away from her face, kissing her forehead, telling her to relax and breathe.

"Have you thought of any names?"

Irina waits for a contraction to pass, then nods. "Nadezhda, for a girl."

"And if it's a boy?"

She hesitates. "Ivan."

Ivan. Elena shakes her head; even now, Irina still clings to the memory of her American.

Then, when it's over, she ignores Irina's pleas as she carries the baby out of the cell. "You look just like your Mama," she croons to the infant. "Pretty Nadia."

vii.

Elena combs her fingers through Irina's tangles hair and remembers once feeling envious of Irina's curls. She envies Irina nothing now. Look what your beauty got you, she thinks. Her touch is tender, meant to soothe.

She talks to Irina of childhood memories, talks to her of Nadia, and though she sees the hurt in her sister's eyes, she talks of Katya and Jack, then wipes away the tears Irina cannot hold back.

"Mama said you were special," she says, "but she was wrong. You could have been, but you threw it all away. And for what? A husband who doesn't love you. Children you'd only end up hurting."

Irina's pulse is racing, her skin covered with a sheen of sweat. She stares defiantly at Elena, her eyes daring Elena to kill her again. Though beaten, she is not yet broken, confident she'll carry her secrets to the grave.

Elena knows better. Elena will make her talk.


End file.
